Aerobic Activity
by The One and Only Birdie
Summary: So long as your heart is racing and your breath is too fast to be caught, can it be considered aerobic activity? Steve x Julia Oneshot


**Dedication: Fondly dedicated to the amazing yet hopelessly romantic running friends who are going to get me through 13.1 miles come November, and all other people who run for fun and slack off like it's your job:-)**

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Aerobic Activity

The first time, they said little. Just a scattered question, such as "are we going too fast?" and "what do we do now?" But both would be too proud to admit it if it were too fast, so they forged onward.

The second time, they said nothing. They knew the deal. The route was clear, all they had to do was follow the trail blazed the first time.

The third time, they spoke.

She talked about her problems, problems that were never hers that she took under her wing. This person's heartache, this person's family suffering. She never talked about the heart break of the world around her, but he could see it in her face with every forest she ran by being plowed down, every piece of litter she had to jump and every car that sped past.

He talked about his problems, problems that other people gave him. About being asked to throw a match dishonestly, the stress of paparazzi and fans, the pursuit of the mafia. What he never spoke of, however, spoke louder, for he never mentioned his family or his parents, or what he was really doing in the tournament when she met him. He never told her why he stopped the police from chasing a known assassin, and she never asked.

The fourth time, Julia brought her iPod, Steve brought his, and each was swept away by the river of their music, sun glistening off of beads of sweat like two waters running parallel through the streets of Shinjuku.

The dawn still slept when Steve and Julia met for the fifth time. Julia wore Nike shoes and green sports bra and matching running shorts. Steve wore long blue shorts with bright red running shoes. All it took was a nod, and the two of them dropped off of the sidewalk and onto the asphalt, beginning their run in silence.

Mile one, bare streets beat their rhythm. Mile two, left, right, left, right, fell into sync with each footfall. Mile three, their bodies matched the beat, heartbeat to heartbeat racing steadily with their feet. Mile four, occasionally, the skin of his arm would brush hers.

It was a reverent feeling that settled over mile five. Mile six passed with a sacred silence, the steady pulse far louder than words could hope. It was over mile seven when Julia broke the pattern. "Why do they call them fish and chips?" she asked. She turned her head slightly to look at him peripherally. "What's wrong with the word fries?"

Steve coughed a laugh as breathless as her voice had been. His eyes searched hers to see if she was serious. Finding she was, the corner of his eyes caught a playground approaching. Dropping his speed to scoop up a handful of the wooden mulch, he offered them to Julia. "See these wood 

chips?" She looked at them with a charmingly quizzical expression as she nodded. "Do they look any bloody thing like your potato chips?"

Julia laughed, a small sound in the back of her throat. 'Touché."

They fell into silence, save for their feet. Steve tossed aside the peat, scanning a nearby street sign. Mile eight was just a few meters away. He considered this proposition carefully.

Julia had been content to let the conversation rest, a word which her feet envied. Occasionally she would glance at him. Never did he look tired, at least not as tired as she felt, but he continued on as if he could run that rate forever and not get tired.

"What I want to know is what's wrong with the metric system," Steve asked. Julia tossed to him the most beautifully incredulous look he had seen, but he continued. "It makes sense, one cubic centimeter of pure water weighs a gram, et cetera, but a foot literally came from measuring some random bloke's foot…"

"You seem to know a lot about this, Mr. Fox." He wasn't sure whether he should be insulted or flattered by her impressed tone. One thing was sure, he wouldn't complain about her smiling at him like that.

"I went to college," Steve said dismissively, defensively. "On a sports scholarship at that."

"One of those types?" she asked. He could see the type she meant in his mind's eye. Every college had them. Even his beloved Cambridge. They flooded 'easy' classes, asked irrelevant questions if they bothered to speak at all. There were many things Steve Fox was, but one of them he was not.

"Only way I could afford to go," Steve replied.

The conversation fell flat on the asphalt. A pang of guilt hit Julia, he could watch it in her face as she looked away, focusing on the road in front of them. It wasn't until they reached the eight and three quarter mile point that she spoke again. "Since fighting in an internationally recognized Martial Arts tournament wasn't good enough, I took up volleyball just so I could afford to go to college."

"Hypocrite." The word was cold but his smile was warm, and Julia knew that he wasn't offended anymore. The relief allowed her to laugh at herself. Steve laughed as well, and when the two were finished they found themselves more breathless than before. When they finally managed to meet one another's eye again, Steve said. "Your shoes are untied."

Julia looked down quickly, and seeing her shoelaces flapping dangerously under her feet, she sighed and dropped down to one knee behind a parked car. Steve slowed his jog ahead of her, before sitting down on the curb.

The sun had risen, its sleepy eye blinking behind the sky scrapers. Commuters and their cars were beginning to come to life; depending on traffic their run may need to be transferred to the sidewalk.

Steve's eyes were watching her, though out of focus. His mind was elsewhere, she could tell. Had she struck a nerve? Some unpacked emotional baggage left over from his college years? His mind was far, ambling down a London street. What was it like in the mind of Steve Fox, Julia wondered. If she passed the azure moat of his eyes, what would she find there?

The gold light of the sun caught his hair the moment his eyes caught hers.

Julia's eyes darted down. Flipping the lace into a loop, she wound her fingers around it to push it through the hole. Meanwhile, she could practically feel his eyes boring a hole in her. Tossing back her ponytail, she pulled out her best sly smile – which, she had been told, was a few scooping necklines short of seductive – and asked "are you staring?"

Judging by the embarrassed smile, she knew both that the answer was yes, and he didn't need a scooping neckline. She couldn't help but blush, both from his smile and from flattery. "Could've said the same fer you." His voice was smoothed with that beautiful English accent, which only intensified when he was nervous.

Irresistible. But why should she resist?

Few things in the world were above scientific reason and inquiry. Some theorized that even the complex emotions and feelings could be explained by neurological functions in the brain. Attraction. Affection. Love. All could be explained by cold hard facts where neurons instructed the rest of the body to create the nuances that identify emotion.

Though Julia knew nothing about this sort of neuroscience, she knew exactly what she felt. She felt the broad back of his hand underneath her fingertips, and she realized that even if she had seen him shirtless many times from his fights and training, she only ever saw him gloveless while running. She felt his breath, warm and halting, the instant before her lips felt his. Attraction? Affection? Love? She could never know for sure which, if any, she felt; but the certainties were enough for her.

When the kiss disappeared, she opened her eyes to his. He smiled faintly, one arm still resting around her shoulder. "Mum always warned me American girls were fast…"

"You have no idea," Julia replied. With that, she slid from under his arm and jumped to her feet. Dashing away a few feet, she paused only long enough to toss back a challenging smile.

At first, Steve didn't understand. He watched her stand, her tan radiant under the waxing sun. That grin made it all too clear, though, made even clearer by her glittering brown eyes. Rising himself, he darted past the car and onto the asphalt, racing after her. The wind pushed past, leaving traces of warmth from its unperceivable fingers. His muscles pushed forward systematically, crying for air and rejoicing at the rush of flying forward. She was only a few feet away, glancing over her shoulder now and them to make sure he was still there, before she leapt off of the beaten path and onto a forested one.

The air smelled sweeter to Julia. The wash of green rippled past the corners of her eyes, and she was certain she could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet, for it was so soft against her shoes. Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, she realized that Steve was not there. Dropping her pace, she turned around. Had he missed the turn? She might have listened for breathing if her own breath and heartbeat hadn't been so loud.

It wasn't until a branch shifted and Steve tackled her that she realized what happened.

Steve was laughing, she could feel his chest heaving from it. For the moment, she was a little too surprised to let out any more than a whimpering giggle. "As the French would say," Steve began victoriously. "_C'est la fin_!"

Julia rolled over, and she found himself facing him. His laugh tapered to a stop, though his body was still winding down from the high speed chase. Just like Julia's. With a smile, she asked. "How would the British say it?"

Closing his eyes for a moment of reflection, Steve amped up his British accent. "Well, me china 'ad it off with 'er toes."

"China?" Julia laughed, rolling back onto her back. Her mind was racing through what that could mean. "Hm. Does that have anything to do with the massive rise in emigration from China?"

Steve blinked. "No." Sitting up, he reentered Julia's view with the green foliage hanging above as a verdant backdrop. "Cockney rhyming slang. 'China plate' rhymes with 'mate,' but adding 'plate' is such a mouthful."

"Mate?" Julia raised an eyebrow, folding her hands behind her head.

He smirked darkly. "You're being too scientific about it." Curiously, he was thinking about how cramped he would be in about twenty minutes, and the disadvantages of suddenly halting aerobic exercise. Fortunately for Julia, he was comfortable enough and interested enough to see the advantages of laying here on the ground of the forest. As of yet, he had counted one. But it was a very good one.

How someone with such a warm heart and spontaneous smile could ever be seduced by the cold world of science, he would never understand. Looking at her, tan and trim with her less-than-modest running ensemble, she might look like any old beach bum. One would never see the deep water beneath her bubbly surface, or the mind more concerned with global warming than her tan lines. Laying back down, he shifted closer to her. His arm draped over her bare midriff. Though she was still warm from running, she accepted it and pressed her cheek to his chest, as he settled his chin over the top of her head. "Your heart is racing." His diagnosis carried a flirtatious accusation.

Julia laughed shortly. "The only reason my heart is racing is because I was just running." Ah, the joys of creating a perfectly romantic moment with a perfectly rational person. She was the Bill Nye of the romantic world. He wouldn't be surprised if she could identify the specific stimuli the body underwent for a heart to feasibly race.

Undeterred, Steve lifted his head, using a finger to raise her chin so he looked at him. "And since I was the reason you were running, I'm also the reason your heart's racing."

Julia couldn't help but smile. So sweet, yet so cheesy. A curious fete, considering Julia had never eaten a sweet cheese. Sitting up to stretch and adjust, she lay down on her side in the grass. Thousands of little blades brushed her skin, and the rich smell of Earth cradled her sweetly. His arm was already on the ground, so she graciously used it to lay her head on. Steve returned his other arm to her waist, tracing a finger up and down her back.

"We ran past three couples," Julia pointed out. "Three." Steve opened his eyes, his expression neutral as she continued. "And all three of them were far too wrapped up with each other to notice us running past, let alone how beautiful this place is."

Steve glanced around. For a park, its trees seemed to have been there for some time, their long and lean trunks rising over them. The grass was thick, the dirt felt moist enough, though not enough to be turned into mud. He had run past a small fishing lake as he came around to intercept her. It was a beautiful place. He could appreciate that well enough. "Have you ever considered that they brought a person to this place because they wanted to share that kind of beauty with that person?"

How perfectly poetic. Particularly from a professional boxer. Her skepticism faltered when her mind reminded her, however, that it came from a handsome man settled on the ground beside her, keeping her wrapped in his arms. "Why did you chase me?" she finally asked.

His smile tried to hide. Ah, women. Give them a run for their money, they want a marathon. Give them a line of poetry, they want a sonnet. One of those lovely little traps could easily be laid before him.

But she wouldn't do that to him. That was perhaps the only reason he still held her. She wasn't one of those women. He loved how she always seemed to look beautiful, whether running or fighting. He loved how she always knew what she was talking about, how she could articulate so brilliantly what she was thinking. He loved how she cared for so many matters in the world that had nothing to do with her, and he loved how fiercely she cared for everyone and everything in her own world. "You're beautiful, brilliant, altruistic…" he said offhand, as if it were no matter of any importance to list off these traits. As if it was no surprise. The surprise to someone like him, Julia supposed, was that no one ever said anything like that to someone like her.

"You forgot one," Julia interjected with a smile. "Fast."

He loved even more how she was not quite fast enough to escape. "But really," he finally said aloud, moving closer, "I'm just grateful that you're a hypocrite."

Julia raised an eyebrow but he caught her in a wonderfully ironic public display of affection. Feeling his mouth move against hers, she might have forgotten completely where she was with how her head was spinning. Her hand traced up his neck and into his hair, while her other rested against his chest, slightly to the left side. Pressing her back and leaning over her, Steve had no excuses to blame his racing heartbeat on.

She wondered if they would get caught. She wondered if they would ever finish their run. She wondered if they would look like they had taken a tumble in the bushes when they came back, and if people would be suspicious. Mostly, however, she wondered if, so long as her heart rate kept above its normal rate, kissing could be considered aerobic activity.

If so, she picked a good training partner.


End file.
